Brennan's Past Revealed
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Temperance Brennan's young adult life entails an awful experience she'd rather forget, but an FBI case hits too close to home and she's forced to reveal what she's hidden behind her mask of rationality for years.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is a response to a fan fiction reader's suggesting a prompt. I've never attempted this, and it's taking way longer than I'd hoped, so rather than it being a long single chapter story, I'm posting what I have, so she knows I'm not ignoring her. I can't predict the speed of progress on this story, however.**

Chapter 1

"Where am I?" she wondered foggily. Trying to recall the events of the previous day, she found only hazy memories of fire, smoke, and the whine of bullets. Cracking one eye open slightly, she took in her surroundings. "I'm in a hospital. . . . ." she thought, before she felt the pinch of a needle, the burn of medicine flooding into her muscle, and faded into sleep once more.

The next time she awoke, her senses were sharper, her perceptions clearer. "My arm is casted. I'm sore everywhere else. What happened?" Keeping her eyes shut, she tried to sort through remembered sensations, sounds, images. " _We were in a fire fight. The rebels weren't supposed to penetrate our communications bunker. Then captured. And I found a radio. I remember calling for a chopper. And back up. I guess it came in time."_

Unable to recall anything else, she was exhausted from the mental effort and dozed again.

Ooooooooooooooooo

Three months later, Temperance Brennan was seated in her commander's Spartan office. "I regret losing your linguistic talents, Warrant Officer Brennan, but I understand your reluctance to renew your enlistment. That engagement in the Rasht Valley was rough," Col. Haskins said, with the typical wry understatement for which he was known. "Your beguiling the rebels was an inspired diversion, you did the Marine Corps proud! It's too bad they don't give the Medal of Honor for Mata Hari impressions. You lulled them into complacency, and noting the location of their radio to place that call to headquarters, while authenticating yourself without compromising your mission took calm presence of mind. I don't mean to sound sexist, but a man could not have pulled off your brilliant ruse. Making them think you were calling a medical missionary; your brain works so well under pressure; you'd make a hellava general, Ms. Brennan. Maybe you should teach a course in covert tactics at West Point," he mused. "You know more foreign tongues than any specialist we've ever had. Your understanding both the Russian and Tajik saved many lives during that mission. Your fluency in Farsi will be missed around here. You might be called upon to help us again, if the need should ever arise. Would you be willing to consider such temporary assignments?"

"I would think about it, Colonel," Temperance answered resolutely, "but for the foreseeable future, I'm planning to return to college. I had to interrupt my education for lack of funds, but military service handled that problem for me."

"If you hadn't managed to radio for assistance, your whole squad would have been lost. Your communication with headquarters in Italian was a stroke of genius. If you'd spoken in Tajik or Russian, the rebels would have known they were coming."

"Well, it's fortuitous that our team back in Bagram is multi-lingual," Temperance remarked.

Ooooooooooooooooooo

In the intervening decade, Warrant Officer Brennan had become Dr. Temperance Brennan, Ph.D. Her work in forensic anthropology on the African sub-continent brought her fame and accolades from her academic colleagues. Her work identifying genocide victims in Ruwanda, Bosnia, and Serbia was far less well-known, but invaluable to the U.S. military. True to his word, now-General Haskins had only called upon her in dire situations where lesser knowledge had failed.

At night, alone in her bed, Brennan frequently relived the terror of those three days in rebel captivity, when she was separated from her mates and subjected to the whims of the Tajik rebel leaders. So, it should have been no surprise to anyone, some years later, that she understood immediately Special Agent Seeley Booth's reluctance to elaborate on the circumstances under which the metatarsal fractures she noticed on his x-rays had been inflicted. Except that no one knew about Temperance Brennan's similar experiences in a dusty Tajiki prison ten years earlier. She kept that information strictly to herself. During her bedside vigil during Booth's recovery, Brennan mused he was the only person to whom she might ever reveal it.

 **One more footnote for readers unfamiliar with military protocol, the proper form of address for a warrant officer is 'Mr.' or 'Ms.' and the servicemember's surname, rather than a specific rank title, like 'Corporal' or 'Sergeant.'**


	2. Chapter 2

Brennan had made superb use of her GI Bill veterans' educational funding benefit after leaving Tajikistan. Admitted to Northwestern University upon her return to the States, she fulfilled one dream she'd shared with her father before her parents' disappearance.

Just as Ruth had sheltered Tempe's sensitive spirit and fed her active imagination with countless bedtime stories, Max had nurtured his little girl's scientific proclivity and fascination. Her childhood was filled with nights learning the stars, Saturdays making vinegar-baking soda volcanos at their kitchen table, evenings watching NOVA. Like a thirsty sponge, her agile young brain absorbed all the knowledge he offered her. She learned the anatomical names for the skeleton so thoroughly, she became the unofficial mascot of the high school Science Club he mentored. His students took great delight in the bubbly, curious, intelligent little daughter of their beloved science teacher. Max held quiz-show style sessions to help his students prepare for the ACT and SAT after school. When Tempe came to hang out in her dad's classroom, she loved to guess the answers along with the older kids and frequently hollered the answer faster than they could respond. Max would gently scold his child, "Tempe, you're not taking the ACT next month. Give these guys a chance, kiddo! You wanna go back to day care?" At which point, the students would beg him to let her stay, and Tempe would clap both hands over her mouth, promising silence. Until she forgot again, in her excitement at knowing the answers.

Living near Chicago, Max and Russ had been avid fans of the Northwestern University Wildcats. Tempe was indifferent to the collegiate sports teams, but her dad assured her Northwestern was a stellar research university. Tempe wanted to be a scientist, doing experiments, researching everything she could think of! Their parents knew both children were very smart, but Russ was more hands on. Tempe's mind was in the clouds. College would open boundless vistas to their outgoing daughter, and she would need a high caliber institution to satisfy her lofty aspirations. Tempe, he had thought to himself many times, was an innate over-achiever, reaching for the stars without a nudge from anyone.

Ooooooooooooo

In her mind, Temperance Brennan had experienced two distinct lives delineated by the gut-wrenching Christmas season when her parents vanished. These modes of existence were as starkly different as steamy Venus and frigid Neptune or Pluto. The face she presented to the world changed dramatically in response to her parents' inexplicable absence. She had been an exuberant child, whose mother could sooth and explain the slights and teasing of her classmates. Once she'd been thrust into the state's uncaring foster system, Tempe became Temperance, a quiet, withdrawn, studious girl who never spoke spontaneously. She considered and analyzed each phrase before any utterance, taught quickly by harsh experiences to remain vigilant; on guard against hidden meanings and wrong assumptions by those holding power over her wellbeing or lack of it. Her parents and hometown friends would not have recognized the restrained reserved person she'd become out of necessity. Reason and logic were her only guides. No one offered advice to an awkward foster child.

ooooooooooooo

In six years Temperance earned three doctoral degrees in forensic anthropology, kinesiology, and anthropology; joining Northwestern dig expeditions each summer, and working part time to supplement her military tuition assistance. Upon graduation, her dissertation supervisor, Dr. Michael Stires, hired her as an adjunct professor of anthropology, teaching the same classes she'd recently taken. She crossed the globe on cooperative anthropology/archaeology/paleontology expeditions. Her extraordinarily strong linguistic aptitudes and military language training made her uniquely qualified to glean cultural clues from the ancient texts she read. She re-examined the deaths of several pharaohs during her dissertation research, finding inconsistencies and ancient familial treachery. She proved that that an Egyptian prince killed for murdering his brother was instead the victim of royal fratricide. She identified how a Stone Age murder victim died. Her published article on this significant investigation attracted the attention of the Jeffersonian Institution's Medico-Legal Director Dr. Jonathan Goodman. Wasting no time, he offered her a job identifying the nameless long-dead bodies sent to the Jeffersonian and directing their intern program. To his surprise, she accepted immediately. Once a trusted mentor, Michael Stires had suddenly become convinced he knew best for his star student. His slanderously false accusations and attempted manipulation of her career shocked Temperance, further reinforcing her lack of trust in anyone but herself.

Brennan's move to Washington DC was liberating. She reveled in the total freedom of her new job. A series of doctoral interns blossomed under her keen tutelage. Her most stellar protégé, Zack Addy, was an awkward genius as geeky as herself. American University quickly found that its most popular science class was her Basic Principles of Forensic Anthropology. Brennan's intense lecture series attracted the notice of a newly hired federal coroner, Camille Saroyan.

Every cop has one or more tragic cold cases which haunt their dreams. Dr. Saroyan's was Gemma Arrington. Her concern prompted a recommendation to a certain FBI Special Agent, "Seeley, you know the definition of insanity is repeating something that didn't work before. How's about you get another point of view?" Her challenging him to try something new had led to the encounter that would change everything. For everyone. At the FBI and the Jeffersonian. Especially for one tall dark handsome agent and an opinionated red-skirt-clad forensic anthropologist lecturing on de-fleshing techniques that fateful morning.

Despite their rocky start and frequent verbal sparring, Booth and Brennan had forged an epic crime-solving partnership which Lance Sweets had termed "wicked successful," much to Booth's disgust. And for eight years, the quirky anthropologist worked alongside the amusedly captivated FBI agent who translated the pop culture world for her, and interpreted her prickly personality for everyone else.

True to her word, Temperance Brennan had assisted the U.S. military on numerous occasions; identifying the victims of genocide in Rwanda, Serbia, Central and South America. Dedicated to her craft, she also volunteered to spend her vacations bringing the same redemption to silent faceless victims overseas that she gave to the inhabitants of Jeffersonian Bone Storage boxes. Her most recent military-related trip had been to El Salvador. Her last vacation had been to Guatemala.

Both trips had been risky, and the latter proved disastrous psychologically for Brennan, reinforcing her disdain for the science she considered worthless. Local militia had tried to breach the dig site where she was identifying a murder victim found in a hastily dug shallow grave. He was an American diplomat stationed in San Salvador, who had boldly questioned the mistreatment and confinement conditions of political prisoners in the country. The presence of U.S. Marines had prevented their gaining access to her investigation, but soldiers and politicians had threatened her, nonetheless. This military assignment had occurred six months before she volunteered to work in Guatemala for Amnesty International. During this 'not restful unvacation' as Angela termed it, Brennan had been kidnapped by soldiers, imprisoned for three nightmarish days of repeated threats, intimidation, and sexual assault before she was found and freed by American special operatives. Shaken to her core by the violence she'd endured, Brennan compartmentalized the traumatic memories by day, and relived them every night.

Oooooooooooooooooo

 **A/N: At this point, for purposes of this story, please assume that Brennan's kidnapping occurred before Heather Taffett's horrific Grave Digger misdeeds affected our dauntless duo.**

Four months later, American military advisors were caught in a 6.2 earthquake near the Hindu Kush town of Ashkasham, Afghanistan. Its depth was calibrated at 92.4 kilometers (57.4 miles). One of these was a covert CIA operative. Prompted by Danny Beck's awareness of her brilliant expertise, the agency begrudgingly requested Brennan's help identifying their people. Booth insisted upon accompanying his Bones to the unstable region, currently so unpredictable, both militarily and geologically. On their long flight over in a spartan C-130, Booth and Brennan dozed off, trying to sleep in the uncomfortable canvas jump seats, her head resting on his shoulder. Ninety minutes later, she startled him with a blood-curdling scream.

Finding his partner drenched in sweat, Booth stared at Brennan with deep concern. He shook her very gently. "Bones! Wake up, Honey. You're having a nightmare. What are you dreaming?" he asked quietly. At first she refused to speak, determined to hide what she considered a weakness. Nightmares were her problem to deal with; Booth had enough issues of his own, without being burdened with stories of her past. But as he hugged her, rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her, Booth reminded her of his experience in Iraq.

"I recognize the signs of your trauma, Bones. This is more than a routine nightmare. It took me months of not sleeping to accept that I needed help coping with my imprisonment and torture. You know what happened to me. You examined my x-rays, you found my secret in a way no one else could have. Those medical film scans gave me away, told you my trauma, and your support meant the world to me. I didn't have to explain what I went through. You knew, you KNEW it all, from reading my bones. We are partners, Bones. Let me help you. Please!"

Brennan took shudderingly deep breaths, trying to calm herself, then looked Booth straight in the eye. "If I tell you, you'll try to investigate, locate the culprits, and probably kill someone. I know what you did when Ramon Ortez put out a Mara Muerte hit on me. I could lose you. It's not worth that risk. I can deal with my demons, Booth. I won't endanger your life."

"Bones, I promise I won't kill anyone. Please. Tell me what happened," he begged her.

After five minutes of silence, Brennan gave him a very sanitized version of her Guatemalan captivity. "When I went to Baja Verapaz to help identify victims of the brutal civilian killings under Efrain Rios Montt, the Guatemalan dictator, I was detained by soldiers for a few days, and it was an unpleasant experience," she said with no emotion.

Booth eyed her knowingly. "Unpleasant, my ass, Temperance. That's the understatement of the millennium! I know how those juntas operated, conducting their business of intimidation. You do remember I told you I was sent down there to deal with a particularly unsavory political figure, right? Don't try to bumfuzzle me, Bones. I know what your little 'unpleasantness' entailed. You are the queen of concealment and compartmentalizing, but it ain't gonna work this time. As Angela would say, 'Spill.' "

Brennan finally relented, and filled in enough detail to satisfy Booth; her head buried in his chest for comfort. He sighed deeply and told her seriously, "Bones, you can't bottle all this up inside or you'll go around the bend. Hank Luttrell finally got me to talk to some Army shrinks about Iraq. I hated every minute of it, but it helped a lot. You gotta talk to someone. Sweets, maybe? Or, if he's too close to home, I'll ask Hank for a recommendation. He had some serious issues to deal with after being paralyzed from bullets too close to his spine. Hell, I had issues too, 'cause I tried to save him, and I couldn't. We are really a pair, you know it? We've both been through the damned wringer, but we came out of it stronger. Bad childhood traumas, bad adult stuff. But that forged our partnership like it was steel. We're the center. We'll hold. No matter what. You've come so far, opening up, letting people see your real self, your kind spirit, your open heart, I love you, Bones, not like a guy hug. Don't know why I told you that bunk. I love you for real, and I need you to be as open with me as I've tried to be with you. You've helped me with my cosmic balance sheet, and you've made me a better man. I'm in this for the long haul, Baby, if you'll have me."

"Booth, don't call me Baby. Okay, I'll tell you what happened to me. But don't go sharing it with the others, most especially not Sweets. Let me try talking to you, and see if I can work through it. If that doesn't work, I might try talking to someone else. But please let me try with you first, Booth. I trust you more than I can say, and getting to that point was difficult for me."

"Okay, Bones, I'll accept that for now."

Their flight was arduously long, with hours to go before they'd land, and she filled the time with a recounting of her military experiences. Booth's mouth gaped open. "You were in the Marines? Jared is gonna have a cow!"

"Booth, no, you don't tell that! Not to anyone, yet. Please! Now, do you want to hear more about my enlistment experiences, or do you want to sleep?"

Booth gulped, realizing his mistake in interrupting her, hoping she wouldn't shut down or stop telling him about her past. You caught me completely off-guard; the fact that you were in the Marine is quite a stunning revelation. I know the language training course for warrant officer specialists is intensive, very demanding and difficult, made worse by its rapid pace, and the degree of fluency they expect you to achieve in a short period of time. You're a quick study and very intelligent, so I'd expect you to do well, but it is a tough course, nonetheless. My roommate from basic training told me that the immersion component is particularly exhausting, since you're not allowed to speak English at all. I'd guess that language training facilitated your university studies in anthropology, especially your field work. How come you've never mentioned being a Marine?"

"You are more familiar with the interpreter/translator MOS training that I would have thought. My enlistment was challenging but enjoyable until my squad came under fire in the Rasht Valley. We were captured and held for several days until I found an unattended radio and managed to call for help. I used Italian to convey our situation, as the rebels holding us spoke both Russian and Tajik Farsi. Since I was the only female, I received some undue and unwelcome attention that my mates did not face. The rebel leader fancied himself a Don Juan, and demonstrated his sexual prowess on me often during those four days. I had to comply to insure our safety as best I could, but it was very unpleasant. Intercourse with the right person is bliss, but when forced upon you, it's most distasteful. Had I not cooperated with him, my squad members would have been tortured. He kept repeating that threat throughout our ordeal."

Booth's stomach lurched at her statements, and he nearly gagged. "Oh, Bones, it's good I promised I wouldn't go after any of your tormentors. If I got my hands on those guys, I'd make them deeply regret their trangressions! That's against every interpretation of the Geneva Conventions, but they don't respect that agreement in the Middle East. I'm sorry you had to go through that. No wonder you haven't talked about this. But thank you for telling me. I believe our partnership is stronger on every level when we know the complete truth of one another."

"Booth, you sound like Angela's friend, that psychic Avalon. She said you were dazzled by the truth of me. I scoffed at that, but the truth of your valor, bravery, and selflessness has dazzled me. Can we try to get some sleep now? And by the way, I think I love you, too. With all we've been through, love is more than a chemical reaction to the ecstasy of intercourse, I have to admit."

"Sure thing, Partner. I guess we're just a mutual dazzlement society," Booth said and kissed her soundly. Her revelation of Avalon's statement touched him profoundly and he blinked to hold back tears. He pushed her head gently down on his shoulder, and rested his on her crown. "You always call a spade a spade, as Pops would say. Get some shut-eye, Bones. I love you."

"Yes, Booth, I love you too."


End file.
